Almost Sylvia Plath

To endure and not spill at all.  
I abandoned myself like a patchwork.  
And I peel the epidermis from me like pomegranate seeds.
 
I juggled once more.  
A sort of wandering spectacle, my exit  
A captive without parchment,  
detain the scarf.
 
The persona, the jointed hollows, the array of molars?  
Soon, on strike the steak  
And I, a lady, a superior lady.  
This is the ceramic femur.
 
What a billion embellishments.  
They flay my palms and soles—  
These were my fingers  
My elbows, no, my elbows ache.  
Yet I am the same, identical nothingness.
 
And there is a charge, a very substantial charge  
Or a strand of my hair or my garments.  
I am your squid,  
That erupts into a howl.
 
I twirl and stagger, stagger and kick.  
Don’t think I hoard gowns  
your vast collection.
 
Disintegrate  
It is a non-craft, like nothing else is.  
I perform this theoretically well.
 
Outline in full sight  
For the same breeze, the same flavor, the same berry  
That ignites me.
 
From the embers  
I rise with scalp  
I inhale the breath of men, of men as breath.
 
I place my words in mouths  
in mouths like Sylvia Plath’s.